


Gagging for It

by stepstostars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: D/s elements, Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gags, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepstostars/pseuds/stepstostars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft gives in and hires Irene for one night. He gets Jim instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gagging for It

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the rant post and that adorable gif of Mark and Andrew for this. I didn't even know I shipped this until I did.
> 
> Crit is welcome, because fuck if I know if I can write porn or not.

Mycroft’s eyes keep coming back to the card—high-quality Bohemian paper and black ink, words all printed out in elegant font. He can barely focus for half an hour before his attention wanders back to the card—to the potential escape and relief it holds.

He finally capitulates, grabbing his phone and entering the number slowly.

It takes two rings before the call connects.

“Ms. Adler,” he says, voice steady and confident. “I would like to schedule an appointment.”

\--

“You owe me,” she says, dangling the key card in front of him. “And do try not to break him.”

He snatches the card from her hand, cradling it in his palms like it was a precious jewel. “Oh, for this,” he laughs, “you can have anything you’d like.”

\--

“Mr. Holmes.” Irene steps in through the door wearing a sheer dress decorated with black lace, holding a coal-black ball gag and a coil of rope in one hand and a riding crop in the other. “Punctual as always, I see.”

Mycroft levels her with an arched brow and a sardonic smirk. “I always keep to my schedule, Ms. Adler.”

He’s been waiting in the hotel room for a little over twenty minutes, sitting at the edge of the bed and concocting plans in his head. He may not have been allowed to bring his phone in, but he could certainly still work without it.

“Oh, oh, cheeky. We can’t have that now, can we?” She waves a hand at the floor, setting the riding crop against the wall. “Kneel facing the bed, please. Would you rather have your clothes on or off?”

Mycroft shrugs, pulling off his jacket and gently laying it on a chair before kneeling on the ground before her. “I’ve no preference. Whichever you choose to be more…suitable would be fine.”

“Then let’s keep those clothes on now, shall we? Start slow and work our way up.” She walks up to him, running a hand along the stiff collar of his shirt. “And these suits are just delicious. Stripping you will be oh so fun.”

“I’m sure,” replies Mycroft dryly, smirk still on his face.

“Oh, _very_ cheeky. We’ll have to fix that.” She presses the gag against his mouth. “Now do be a good boy and open up.”

He looks up at her for a moment—taking in the serious gaze and the insistent pushing against his teeth—before he reluctantly opens his mouth. She ties the strap behind his head, patting him on the cheek. “Now isn’t this a lovely sight?” She moves around him, gently pulling his hands and arms together to rest against the base of his back and binding them tightly together with the rope. “The great Mycroft Holmes, on his knees and unable to speak.”

He glares at her, but she simply pats him on the head again, mussing up his perfect coif. “Your privacy is ensured, of course. No one will know unless you reveal it.” Her lipstick is blood-red and her smile deadly. “But, unfortunately, as beautiful as this is, I must leave you now. I actually have another appointment at this time.”

Eyes widening, Mycroft can feel the fear and shock bubbling up in his gut. Irene leans in, laying herself flat along his back. “Oh, no, don’t worry. My assistant is more than capable enough to take care of you.” She lifts herself off, making sure to slide her hands along his spine as she pushes away. “Remember.” She gives him one last blood-red smile before turning away. “You’re in good hands.”

He counts her footsteps, notes the brief whispered conversation at the doorway, ears straining to catch the words even when he knows it’s futile. Her heels click again, tapping a steady beat before they disappear altogether. The door closes with a resolute thud.

He can hear the stranger padding toward him, steps firm and steady.

“Why, if it isn’t the Ice Man,” says the stranger. Mycroft’s back suddenly seizes with tension, stiffening to arrow-sharp straightness. Whipping his head around to see the stranger, his eyes widen again, his shouts muffled behind the gag.

“We’re going to have so much _fun_ , Mr. Holmes,” says James Moriarty, mouth wide in an earnest smile.

\--

“Let’s play a game before we start, shall we?” Jim has the riding crop in hand, letting it smack against his hand with an obscenely loud slap.

Mycroft’s jaw aches from how hard he’s biting into the gag, his hands wiggling around to gain any leverage to better untie himself.

“Now why would you, _Mycroft Holmes_ , be here?” The crop gently pushes up against his chin, tipping Mycroft’s head back and forcing him to stare at Jim. “The Ice Man, the master of control, most powerful man in the world, looking to be—can I say it—” Jim’s eyes are bright. “Dominated? Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Mycroft manages a growl around the gag and Jim laughs, setting the riding crop down and sitting down to stare him straight in the eye.

“You must have it so bad,” Jim continues, wonder tracing the edges. “Need this release so much—and to ask _Irene_ to do it.” A vicious smile this time. “So masochistic. We both know you couldn’t get off to that. She’s beautiful and wonderfully talented at this art, yes, but completely the wrong sex.” He stresses the last word, taking obvious relish in his discomfort. “Or were you hoping she’d bend you over and fuck you anyway? Fill you with a fake prick, force you to say you loved it—loved having anything up your arse, plastic or not, like the little cockslut you are?”

Mycroft shudders—trying to hide his blush and calm his heart—because that’s exactly what he wanted but everything he refuses to have. Especially from Jim, criminal mastermind, exploiter of any and all weaknesses. This is the last place he should be when letting go, not when someone so dangerous is so close and he so vulnerable.

“Oh, do calm down. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom,” says Jim lightly, “I’m not _that_ cruel. No, no, this is for fun.” He slides a hand against Mycroft’s cheek, stroking along the edges of the gag. “And this mouth—this sinfully pretty mouth. It’s like it was made for sucking cock.” The fingers move along Mycroft’s lips. “It’d be such a waste if I destroyed its owner. Not when he’s positively _gagging_ to have something shoved down his throat.”

Mycroft squirms, knees bunching up together and arms straining against their bonds.

“I wonder if you’d beg for it, if I took this out.” Jim flicks at the gag, tapping against the middle of the ball. “Would you crawl to me—dirty that pristine suit you’re wearing—all to try and persuade me to let you suck my cock?”

He can feel his own prick pressing against the seam of his trousers—and, God, he hasn’t even been touched. Just filthy, filthy words. It’d been so _long_.

Jim leans forward, undoing the strap around the gag. “Won’t you?” He shifts back on his feet, settling himself on the edge of the bed, crotch right in Mycroft’s face.

“No,” spits Mycroft viciously, forcing his eyes to focus on Jim’s face. He still has some pride, after all. “Never.”

Jim smiles, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “We’ll see about that now, won’t we?” He pushes the gag back against Mycroft’s mouth, roughly pulling his teeth apart to fit it in. The straps are even tighter against his head now, and his tongue lolls around, desperately trying to find a comfortable place to sit.

“We have so much time, after all. And all this potential to mould.” Jim sighs, kneeling down next to Mycroft again, petting his thigh. “But we’ll follow the rules you laid out with Irene.”

The fingers run up his shirt, undoing the buttons as he went. “No anal penetration, no marking, safeword is twisting your index and middle finger together.” Jim rolls his eyes. “How dull.”

Mycroft continues glaring up at him.

“Oh, please.” Jim pulls at the opened shirt until it’s a tangle around Mycroft’s bound wrists. “Just know you can change the rules at any moment. This is your playground, after all.”

The fingers rush to his nipples, circling around them gently as Jim leans in to whisper against his ear. “But it would be so _good_. I know you want my cock; you can hardly keep your eyes off it. Don’t you want it in you? So far down your throat you’d choke, using you like the little whore you are?”

A pinch at one of his nipples forcefully drags him out of his daze. He just barely realises he’s drooling and Jim shifts back and smiles, a wicked gleam in his eyes. One hand comes back up, brushing against his lip to catch the spit, moving back down to rub it against the nub, cool liquid a stark contrast against his heated skin. He groans, coming out as barely a gasp from around the gag.

“You’d keep swallowing,” continues Jim, “trying to get it further down your throat while you’d press my fingers against your arse, begging for me to open you up while you choke on my cock.” He leans in again, breath tickling his ear. “You just wouldn’t be able to get enough of it, would you?”

Mycroft can feel one hand trailing down, across his stomach, playing along the belt of his trousers. He shudders and leans in, desperate for more of that touch.

“Or maybe you’d rather have me in your pert little arse, filling that emptiness inside you. I’d let you suck on my fingers, even.” He can hear Jim’s small bubble of laughter. “But we both know that you wouldn’t really want my fingers. No, you’d be wishing to have another heavy cock in your mouth to gag on while I fucked you from behind, another one up your arse with me, stretching you so wide, stuffing you full with the cock you crave.”

Jim hums, rocking back onto his heels again and pushing himself up to his feet. “Do stand up—the bed’s much more comfortable.” He pulls at Mycroft’s shoulders, managing to get them both upright without falling.

“Wait one second, actually.” Jim smiles cheekily, dropping to his knees and undoing Mycroft’s belt, dragging down the zip to his trousers with his teeth. His pants follow after, and Mycroft’s left standing naked with his prick right next to Jim’s mouth.

Jim looks up, the damned smile still on his face. “Is this unwanted?” His face moves in, tongue peeking out to lick a stripe along Mycroft’s thigh. “I’ll stop whenever you want.”

There’s a lump the size of a planet in Mycroft’s throat, and he falls to the bed, scrambling back in an attempt to try and resist the temptation in front of him, shirt around his hands crumpled up, wrinkled, and utterly ruined.

“Oh, please, do sit. The ride’s much better lying down,” says Jim, jumping onto the bed and straddling his legs. He snags a pillow, pushing it underneath Mycroft’s hips. “Relax,” he whispers, mouth already at the base of Mycroft’s prick. He takes the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the top before moving further down. Mycroft gasps, body squirming to thrust up into the slick heat while his brain tells him to resist.

A hand clamps itself on his hips, holding him down. “Shh, just take it,” says Jim before he sinks _lower_ , swallowing Mycroft down to the base, and he moans against the gag, struggling to breathe as his heart tries pumping out of his chest—there’s not enough air coming in through his nose and—

Jim shifts off—mouth red, bruised, and shiny with spit—climbing up so his head’s next to Mycroft’s again, combing through his hair and turning him to lie on his side. “Breathe,” he purrs, “Through the nose, just breathe.”

Mycroft slowly calms down, heart returning back to its usual pace, lungs finally getting enough air. That’s when he finally notices where Jim’s hands are—one slowly stroking around his prick and the other running softly along his arse.

His pulse rockets up again.

“How many people’ve been here before?” asks Jim, petting Mycroft’s arse softly. “I’m sure it’s in the hundreds, knowing how much of a slut you are for cock. And so greedy and impatient, you’ve probably had some a few at a time, hm?”

Even as he shudders, arse twitching and empty, Mycroft can feel the fingers start to draw circles, centering on his arsehole, and he tenses.

“I wonder if you’d even need to be prepared. If I could just slick up and slide in without any trouble.”

The fingers are gone for a moment, and then the tip of one, wet and slippery, nudges just the barest inch in, poking in and out and teasing the perineum. Mycroft stiffens even more, arms twitching, fingers ready to cross. “Or maybe I should spend the time to open you slowly. Tease you with my fingers until you beg for something bigger.”

He twists a little, his brain a complete mess—one half of his mind telling him to push against the fingers and the other half yelling at him about boundaries and keeping them.

“Stop thinking,” says Jim, the hand around his prick tightens its grip. “This is about letting go. About breaking limits. You’re not Mycroft Holmes right now,” he hisses, “You’re a whore who’d spread his legs for anyone. You’re so desperate for cock, you’d take it anywhere you could get it. On the couch in your brother’s flat, in your office bent over your desk, in the men’s, straddling my hips as I sit on a disgustingly filthy toilet, riding me as hard as you can go.”

Mycroft whimpers, finally giving in and pressing up against Jim’s fingers. He moans against the gag as he’s rolled onto his stomach, prick dragging against the sheets and Jim’s breath hot against his neck, his fingers, slick with lube, still just teasing the outside of his arsehole.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” murmurs Jim. The fingers circle around and around, but never press _in_ , “I don’t even know if I need to push in. You’re so wonderfully _desperate_.”

Mycroft hardly cares about his pride anymore, not when he’s this far gone, so he pushes up with his hips, trying to drag those fingers further in.

“Oh, oh, there we are, my wonderful, wonderful little cockslut,” coos Jim, one of his fingers finally sliding in. Mycroft practically groans with relief, spreading his legs wide against the sheets. 

“Aren’t you so pretty, opening yourself up for me, letting me push _deeper_.” He punctuates this by adding a second finger and curling up against his prostate, jolting a surprised moan from Mycroft. “I think I could watch you do this all day.”

Mycroft digs his head deeper into pillow, trying to find some traction so he can push up harder, get those fingers on his prostate again. Then it’s three fingers, knuckle-deep, and suddenly Jim is moving up, fingers around his hips and his prick sliding _in_ —

“Oh, yes, this is exquisite,” gasps Jim, moving out to push back in harder. His hands move up to the strap at the back of Mycroft’s head, undoing the clasp and pulling the gag away. “Even after so many uses, it’s still so _tight_.”

He can barely push out a groan, breath stuttering in his throat as Jim pushes in again, this time just brushing past his prostate.

“Tell me how much you like my cock in you,” Jim growls, teeth digging into the skin at the back of his neck, hands pressed down hard against his waist.

“Harder,” he begs instead, “God, please, _please_.”

He feels a shift in the angle, and suddenly everything’s a bright, _bright_ white when Jim hits his prostate dead on, and he feels so comfortably _full_ for once and—

“Fingers,” he manages to moan, “Please.”

Jim kisses the back of his neck, bringing up a hand and stuffing two fingers into Mycroft’s mouth, and everything’s perfect now, exactly right—

His climax overwhelms him, everything bursting into light—like he’s floating—before he drops back down. His arms are still bound, he’s nearly drooling on the hotel pillow, and Jim, grinning brightly into his neck, is nuzzling his shoulder.

“Now, see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks, sliding his prick out and petting his hands down Mycroft’s sides, fingers deftly undoing the knots at his wrists.

**Author's Note:**

> Now back to finishing up all those M/L WIPs.


End file.
